


day one, of three hundred and sixty five

by WellyFullOfAle



Category: Emmerdale
Genre: Angst, Eventual reunion, M/M, Painful angst, aaron released from prison, crying Robert, major separation anxiety, newlyweds torn apart, robron pda
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-22
Updated: 2017-02-23
Packaged: 2018-09-26 08:52:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,776
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9877949
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WellyFullOfAle/pseuds/WellyFullOfAle
Summary: Robert's POV once he hears about Aaron's sentence. I cried writing it; Robert cried during it; you may cry reading it.Second chapter is Aaron's POV on his release day from prison to help heal the pain from the first chapter.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry for this, it appears I am a sucker for pain.

You didn’t believe it when you first heard it.

You didn’t want to believe it.

Twelve months.

You were sure you’d misheard it.

_Twelve months?_

There was no way he deserved that.

Aaron hadn’t let you go to court with him, and he’d begged you not to make him leave on an argument when you’d tried to be firm and tell him there was no way you weren’t going, and you’d backed down sooner than you usually would have done, because you’d have done anything he asked of you this morning after everything that he gave to you yesterday, and you couldn’t bear to not give him what he pleaded for.

He’d already said everything he needed to say to you this morning, and you to him. He’d told you to look after Liv, and he’d told you that he wouldn’t go a second without thinking of you, without wishing he could be back here with you. He’d told you he was sorry, again. He’d told you that you were the best thing in his life. He’d thanked you for waiting for him. And he’d told you to make sure you buy sensible kitchen cupboards for the Mill that didn’t make it look like a science lab, and you’d laughed at that, and as soon as you’d seen the tears in his eyes your smile had fallen. He’d given you his wedding ring, and he’d asked you to keep it safe, and your efforts to stay strong for him cracked under the weight of the ring when he placed it into the palm of your hand.

You’d sobbed into the crook of his neck as he’d pulled you close to him, and his tears had dampened the shoulders of your navy blue jacket in return.

You’d tried to be strong for him, but the goodbye was always going to make you break.

You’d let him say goodbye to you in the privacy of the back room of the pub, and you’d watched on as he’d said goodbye to everyone else out in the bar afterwards, and you’d followed him outside when he’d gone to get into the car with Adam to go to court, and you hadn’t been able to stop yourself when you’d urged forwards and grabbed his arm as he was about to get into the car and pulled him back into your arms for one last kiss.

You could still taste him on your lips.

You could still feel the remnants of the tingling sensation his kisses left against you.

You bit down onto the taste of him, in the hope that it would ground you; stop your world from spinning and your heart from breaking.

Adam had had to tell you twice, because you hadn’t believed it.

Twelve months.

It had begun to register the second time, and you’d been vaguely aware of your body giving way beneath you, of your back colliding with the wall behind you as you’d lost the strength to hold yourself up.

You’d only been vaguely aware of the tears that started escaping from you silently.

Twelve months.

There was no way he deserved that.

That beautiful man that you married. That picture of perfection, who’d looked at you yesterday like he’d move heaven and earth and fight the entire world just for you if you asked him to.

Who’d saved you; given you a reason to live so many times; given you a reason to want to become a better person, to be somebody who was worthy of his love.

Who’d only acted out in a moment of weakness thanks to what you’d done to him.

Who’d already suffered enough for 10 lifetimes worth of punishment.

Who’d cried in your arms outside this pub last night, scared, and who you’d held until the tears had subsided, because you’d needed to try and make his fears disappear.

You caught your breath in your throat, and you’d became aware that you must have let out some kind of groan because suddenly the eyes in the room were all on you.

You sobbed, and you’d heard yourself this time.

You could see Chas advance towards you, arms outstretched, and you’d know her words were laced with concern for you, but you couldn’t focus enough to work out what those words were.

You couldn’t focus on anything, but him.

Her arms wrapped around you, and you couldn’t explain why it made you feel closer to Aaron, but it did, and you let yourself give in to it, tears flowing from you without invitation.

She’d held you there for what had felt like hours, and when you’d allowed yourself to refocus on the world around you, you’d realised that there were three of you in the hug, and that Liv had her arms wrapped around your waist and Chas’s, and the sentiment of it brought with them a whole new wave of tears needing to be shed.

You can’t remember the moment when the three of you broke away from each other, but you must have found the strength to do so at some point because you’d managed to get yourself showered, and changed, and you were lying now in the bed you shared with your husband last night.

On your wedding night.

You’d barely slept; last night.

You hadn’t wanted to close your eyes – either of you – because to sleep had felt like such as waste of those precious moments you had left together.

You’d done nothing but think about him all day. You’d woken up wrapped in his arms, and you’d immersed yourself into the physical manifestation of his love three times that morning, and you’d wanted to savour every single thing about him, and you’d kissed him until your lungs had given out, and you’d touched his body as if your hands had needed to prove to themselves that he was real; that he would continue to be real even when he wasn’t here with you anymore; when his body was elsewhere but his love still surrounded you wherever you looked. You hadn’t left his side until the second he'd left for court with Adam, and you’d occupied your mind only with those memories, and those thoughts about when he’d been with you, and he’d been happy; and it had helped to get you through.

You hadn’t dare to let yourself think of him now.

You grimaced with the thought of it; with your daring to let your mind go there; and the tears had started again.

You lay down on your bed; on his side of the bed; inhaling his scent from his pillow like it held the cure to everything that hurt inside of you.

And you let your mind go there.

You let yourself succumb to it; to the inevitable pain of it.

Of what Aaron would be doing right now; how he would be coping.

You let yourself picture that scene in court; where he would have been standing, waiting, heart racing, tears threatening. You imagined his reaction. His devastation. His shame. His descent into tears at the thought of it.

You imagined how lonely he must have felt.

How he must have looked at Adam, and wanted to see you there.

You wished you’d made him let you go with him.

You think about how he must have needed you in that moment.

And how you weren’t there.

A dagger sliced through your heart, and you felt it split you open; could almost taste the blood that seeped from its wound.

You picture him in your mind, and the memory of his features is forever etched into the back of your eyelids. You might have been worried that your memories would forget the way he looked; but you’d been without him before – had been starved of him before – and you knew his was a face that would never leave you; never not play out in vivid technicolour behind your eyes whenever you closed them.

You picture him, as he’s taken down.

You can feel his fear.

You can feel his shock; his shame; his disappointment. His pain, at hearing the length of his sentence.

You can feel his hope disappearing in the split second he hears the news.

You can feel his need for you, in that moment.

You can feel his fear, as he goes through the processes of arriving in prison, changing into his prison clothes; undergoing the searches all prisoners are subjected to.

You feel sick with it; with the thought of your amazing husband being subjected to it.

You can feel his pain; his strength.

You can feel his crippling loneliness when his cell door closes; when he lies in that cold, clinical space for the first time, and when he finally lets himself think of you.

You can feel his love for you.

You can feel his desperation to touch you; to hold you. To feed off your strength; the strength you both have when you’re together.

You feel only weakness now he’s not here.

You can feel his tears start to fall silently when he instinctively reaches for the third finger of his left hand and finds it bare; no ring there; nothing there to act as his constant reminder of your never ending, infinite love for him, and the promise you made to him yesterday, and every day since you’d known him.

You know how he’d clung to that ring – that promise – whenever he’d needed that reminder; ever since you’d pushed that ring onto his finger in that hospital bed.

You can feel every emotion you know he’s going through.

You just can’t feel _him_.

You can’t feel his physical presence, in this bed with you.

He’s not here.

You break all over again in realisation of it.

You curl in on yourself, and you let yourself sob freely into his pillow, and you didn’t think you had any tears left in you, but they renew their supply all over again when you reach over the side of the bed and drag his dressing gown over from his pile of clothes on the floor, and you ball it up in your arms, and you inhale from it like it’s a renewed source of oxygen.

It is your oxygen; his scent.

His love.

And you know that’s what is going to help you to get through.

You reach over to your bedside drawer, and you take out the ringbox, where you’d put his ring earlier in the day, after he’d given it to you for safe keeping.

You couldn’t bear to keep it locked away.

You slide it onto your finger, above where your own ring sits.

It grounds you for a second, and your sobbing ceases long enough for you to look at the image of those two rings stacked together on your wedding finger, and for you to picture Aaron’s face, telling you to stop being soft, and laughing at you for the sentimentality of it.

You briefly think about when you go to visit him; when he’ll be able to see that you’re keeping his ring safe; that it’s nestled up next to his own, where it will stay until he’s back with you.

You’d give anything for that time to be now.

You’d give anything to have him here with you.

You’d given anything for him to be safe.

“I love you, Aaron,” you say out loud, as your body shakes with the need for him.

You’d give anything for him to be able to hear your words.

“I love you so much,” you repeat, as if saying it twice means he’ll hear it.

You hope the strength of your love carries your words all the way to where he is. To where he’s lying alone; undoubtedly scared; missing your warmth surrounding him.

You hope that he hears you, even if it comes from the recesses of his mind.

If you really let yourself believe it, then you think you can hear him, too.

In fact.

You know you do.

He loves you too.

And you allow it to calm you, and to help you to even out your breathing, even if there is a voice in the depth of your mind which tells you it’s impossible; that sound waves can’t travel that far.

They can travel through your heart, though, you tell yourself.

If it's you, and Aaron, then anything is possible.

And with that, you allow yourself to succumb to sleep.

Day One, of Three Hundred and Sixty Five.


	2. day three hundred and sixty five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I felt like I needed apologise for the pain. This is day 365, from Aaron's POV.

_**Day three hundred and sixty five, of three hundred and sixty five.** _

You just want to leave.

You hadn’t slept; hadn’t wanted to. You hadn’t wanted to spend a single second further in this 4x6 cell with this thug sleeping in the bunk beneath you.

You hadn’t wanted to eat one more meal in that godawful canteen this morning.

You hadn’t wanted to wear these disgusting prison clothes for one second longer.

You hadn’t wanted to spend a single second in the company of these men; these _animals_ who had made your life hell.

You heard the rattle of keys outside of your cell door, and the knock on the door came simultaneously with it being swung wide open.

“Dingle, time’s up.”

You knew which guard it was before you even saw him – knew them all by the sound of their voices – and you couldn’t wait to be rid of their presence in your life.

You stood up in a flash; bag already packed.

The walk from your cell down to the release area seemed like the longest walk of your life. The wait to sign you out seemed to take even longer. You had to hand over the thread-bare red jumper you’d been forced to wear, and the no doubt sweatshop made tracksuit bottoms you’d lived in for months.

They handed you back the cash equivalent of what was left in your prison account – £97.42 – and you smiled because you knew that money was Robert’s. You’d had a rare reason to smile and feel a flash of warmth inside of your cold, bleeding heart every time you’d seen your account get topped up over the last few months. You’d known it was Robert every time. Your husband. You were one now – you came as package – and it was only natural that whatever he had he would give to you; to keep you safe. So he’d kept your prison account topped up, and you’d never had to ration yourself whilst being in here, and you loved him for it. You’d known it was his way – his one way of being able to show you that he was thinking of you; that he loved you. That he was looking out for you.

You couldn’t wait to be back with him.

Your hand was shaking as you took the pen from the guard on the admin desk to sign your release forms.

At times you’d thought this day would never come.

Your signature looked nothing like it usually did.

You didn’t care; you barely noticed.

You handed the form back to the guard, and you took a seat in the room, and you waited.

You waited some more.

You didn’t know what was taking so long, but it was tortuous.

You could almost sense Robert’s presence outside – so sure he would be there; despite your last visit the week before having ended on an argument that you hadn’t had the time to fix before visiting hours had ended.

You hoped Robert knew you were sorry for it.

You were sure he did.

Robert always knew.

It’s what you did, wasn’t it, the two of you? Bicker then make-up; on repeat.

Only it had been months since you’d been able to make up with him properly.

You yearned for him, with everything you have.

You haven’t felt his heat envelop you since your wedding night, and you’d cried actual tears over the last few months when you were alone, focused solely on the way that you couldn’t touch him; couldn’t show him how much you loved him; how thankful you were that he’d waited for you.

You swallowed down the lump in your throat, aware that this time it was through anticipation of what you knew was to come.

There were three other inmates ready for release too, and you recognise only one of them. The others must have been in other wings. You look over to the one you do recognise, and he catches you looking, and he offers you an understanding nod. You hadn’t had anything to do with one another on the inside, but you’d been aware that he’d been subjected to a fair few beatings at the hands of one of the groups of lads in there; and you were sure he would have known what you’d been through too.

You realise that his family are probably standing outside, too, waiting for him. Waiting next to Robert.

You catch your breath in your throat; realising that you’d managed to keep you and Robert a secret for the whole time you’d been in here, and that now you had no intention of hiding what you have with Robert. It had killed you to not be able to touch your husband whenever you’d seen him in that visiting room, and all you want to do as soon as you see him on the outside is to fall into his loving embrace and press your lips against his, for the first time in months.

You can almost taste him, already.

The memory of his lips had kept you going at times; had given you a reason to fight, and to carry on, even when it was at its toughest.

You didn’t want to think about that now.

Not when your husband was within touching distance.

To hell with your inmate finding out; that didn’t matter now.

Everything inside of this cold steel structure was irrelevant now.

“OK,” the guard calls out, and all four of you stand up in unison, each as eager as the other to get out.

The guard walks you all out of the building and across the yard, filtering through the first gate, the guard locking it securely behind you before going to open your gateway to freedom.

You can feel the relief flooding out of you.

You think you can feel your eyes tearing up with the depth of it.

The metal gate swings open, and your eyes fall straight to him.  

Tall, blond, and impossibly handsome.

Your husband.

The love of your life.

Your Robert.

You’re aware of the smile that drapes over your face, aware it might have been the widest you’ve ever managed. You step outside of the gates, and into your freedom. You’re nearly knocked off your feet as Liv bundles herself into your arms, crying, trying to speak through her tears but struggling to be coherent; begging for you never to leave her again.

You drop your bag to the floor, so that you can wrap your arms around her.

Your mum’s next up, launching herself towards you, flinging your arms around you with Liv still clung to your waist.

You feel them squeeze you, as if they’re afraid that they’’ll lose you again if they let go.

You close your eyes, and you drink in their love, and the relief that seeps out of them looks much the same as yours does.

You open your eyes again, and he’s stood there waiting for you, still.

His eyes haven’t left you since you walked through the gate.

He’s patient, because he knows how much Liv and your mum have missed you; how much they’d need to throw themselves at you like they are doing.

He’s patient, because he knows that when you get to him, you’re never going to let him go.

And you don’t intend to.

Your mum let’s go first, Liv straight after. Your mum grabs your face with her hands, and pulls you down to place a kiss on your forehead.

“I’m so proud of you, son,” she says to you, and you’re tempted to brush it off, but you can’t find it in you to make her words seem unimportant.

“Thanks, mum,” you tell her with a smile.

“So glad you’re back,” Liv smiles at you, looking into your eyes for a brief second with an unfamiliar sense of sincerity, and then she laughs, and pays down her emotions in the same that you know you do too. “Rob’s been doing my head in, moping over missing you all the time.”

You laugh, and you look up at him, and he’s rolling his eyes, and your heart leaps into your mouth.

“Yeah?” you ask her, as if you doubt that it’s true.

You don’t.

Not for one second.

“Well, he’s not gonna be doing much of that anymore,” you tell her, breaking your gaze from Robert for a split second to look down at her, reassuring her.

You look back up at Robert, and something inside of you wants to savour this feeling; forever.

Liv steps aside, and you hear your mum pull her into a hug behind you, and it’s just Robert now.

Just Robert.

You’re aware of the conversations around you; of the reunions between the others and their families, and it reminds you that you’re exposed now; that everyone will see.

You can’t find it in yourself to care.

You only want Robert.

You take a deep breath, and he takes one too, and you see his features twist into a reflection of your own emotions, and he’s biting on his bottom lip, and his eyes are red and filled with tears.

You sense that he’s unsure if you want to do this here, with everyone watching; with _them_ watching.

You do.

You’ve got to.

You couldn’t carry on one more second without it; without _him_.

You close the space between you and your husband, and you’re not sure if it’s because he’s not expecting it, or if it’s the force behind you as you do it, but he stumbles backwards as you push your lips against his, and his body connects with the side of the car he’d been standing next to.

You can feel his smile against your lips, and you can hear his laugh as your kiss swallows the sound of it.

But you’re not laughing.

You need this.

You can feel your oxygen levels rising with each second he presses his lips back against yours; can feel the life blood rushing back through your veins, sparks igniting you once more as his hands trail over your forearms.

You’d never gone this long without him; never been able to resist his lips against your own for this long. Not even when you’d hated him; wanted him dead, because you knew the only way to stop yourself from loving him was for him to leave this earth entirely.

You still hadn’t gone this long without him, even then.

The thought of it renews your need for him, and you push your body up against his as you wedge him between you and the side of the car, opening yourself to his kiss, trembling with the feel of his tongue as it brushes against your own, urging yourself forwards, needing to take everything you can from him, and you almost forget to breathe when he groans into your kiss, and you don’t even remember that you’re so in public.

He responds against you, arms grabbing at your neck, fingers tracing along your hairline, their tips pushing into the back of your neck as he draws you in closer to him, needing you to be closer; needing you to never let go of him. Never again.

You slip your hands inside of his coat jacket, pulling him towards your body. You slide your hands down until they bump against his belt, and you wriggle your fingers between his trousers and the shirt that’s tucked in there, grabbing at the material as you pull his shirt upwards, needing to get underneath. You finally free his shirt from its constraints, and you slide your fingers up his back, against his bare skin, and you can hear him groan again with it, and you hold your palms out flat against his back, and you know the tears are falling from your eyes now, and you think you can feel the wetness from his tears against your cheek too, and you can’t think of anything except that you need him; you need him; you need him.

He tries to break the kiss, but you urge forwards and claim his lips once more, and he laughs into your embrace, and you laugh back, and you let yourself open your eyes.

He’d already staring back at you, and you go weak with the sight of his blue-green eyes staring directly into your soul again.

He reads you like you’re the only words he’ll ever need to know.

You know he’s trying to say something to you, but he chokes on it, and you smile, and you pepper kisses against his lips until he has the strength to pull your head back slightly and to say it to you.

“Never look back.”

He breathes the words out, and you still with it, and you’re looking into his eyes, and his tears are falling openly, and yours match his drop for drop.

You know how those three words had ingrained themselves into his subconscious, just as they had been ingrained into yours.

“Never look back.”

He says it again, stronger this time, like it’s a mantra he’s repeated to himself for months, and you smile, and it takes you back to your wedding night, when you’d sat outside of that pub, and he’d told you he’d wait for you, and he’d told you that it would pass, and he’d told you that you’d come back to him, and he’d told you that when you did, you’d never look back.

You kiss him again, and you bring your hands up to his face, and you hold his head in your hands just as he holds yours in his.

“Never look back,” you say to him, and they’re the truest words that have ever left your lips.

 

-s-

 

There’s a welcome home party for you at the pub when you get back.

You’re thankful, but you can’t imagine anything worse than spending the rest of the day drinking in the pub.

There’s only one place you want to be.

You stay for one drink out of courtesy, and you thank everyone for showing up.

Then you tell Robert you’re tired, and you want to go home.

Liv says she’ll come too, but your mum says something to her quietly, and she sits back down, and you suspect your mum knows precisely what your intentions are with Robert.

It’s 2pm when he walks you out of the pub, and you know he’s excited when he opens up the front door of the Mill for you, and beams with pride at the work he’s done there.

You’re in awe of it.

You’re not sure you’ve got the emotional capacity to think about the amount of time your husband must have dedicated to making the place look perfect, ready for your return.

It’s overwhelming for you to think that anyone would do that for you; would love you enough to not only wait for you – to put their own life on hold whilst you’re on the inside – but then to also dedicate that time to creating a home for you.

He’s done an amazing job, and you turn to him in the doorway, and you thank him without words, and in the best language the two of you can speak.

You break apart from him for a second, and you look him in the eye, and you reignite a playful side to you that’s been hidden in the depths of your emotions for months.

“Where’s the bedroom?” you ask him, and you’re almost purring, and he’s almost growling in response.

He pulls at your belt buckle, and the back of his hand grazes against your groin, and you need him more now than you ever have before.

“Follow me,” he pleads, and you kiss him all the way down the corridor, before he guides you through one of the doors, and pushes you backwards until your back connects with the wholly unfamiliar comfort of the mattress.

It’s not until the following morning that you get to see how your husband has decorated the rest of your home.

There was far too much to see in the bedroom, you’d realised.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope that helps!


End file.
